A Stitch in Time
by Stormstoker
Summary: Set after the events of X3: There is a new arrival to Xavier's Institute, bringing trouble with him. Soon the X-Men, still recovering from the loss of their friends, are forced once more to fight for mutants across the globe. Feedback welcome! *Updated*
1. Chapter 1

Logan stumbled into the unlit kitchen of the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters, sleep making his movement slow and clumsy. Fumbling his hand across the wall, he found the lightswitch and flicked it, wincing as the bright light assaulted his retinas. Stifling a yawn so as not to wake the slumbering kids on the floors above, he dragged a chair over to the fridge and stood on it, becoming level with a cupboard above it, far too high for the younger students to reach. Opening the door, he dragged a small safebox out, manoeuvring it down onto the table, knocking the cupboard door shut with an elbow. The numbness of sleep nearly gone now, he sat down in front of the box and reached out a hand.

_Creak_

Logan froze, his hand immobile in the air. Eyes darting from left to right, he checked all the available options. Door, window, second door, ventilation grid. All seemed clear, but there was only one way to be sure he wasn't being paranoid. Inhaling sharply through his nose, Logan tested the air, searching for any signs of abnormal activity. And found none.

Frowning, he stood up and moved to the window, his bare feet deathly silent on the tiled floor. Leaning back to make a smaller target, he squinted through the glass, gazing out over the grounds of the school. The basketball court, the fountain and, of course, the memorial garden. Illuminated starkly by the bright moon, they were all quiet and still.

Snorting in self-derision, Logan flopped back into the chair, keying the six-digit combination into the side of the box. A high shelf was one thing, but there were other people in this school, adolescent and teacher alike, who were just as tall, if not taller than he, and the contents of this box was for him, and him alone. Cocking his head to check if the coast was clear, he opened the box, getting a gentle blast of cool air right in the face. Reaching in, he pulled out a can of beer and inspected it. Allowing himself a small smile in anticipation, he cracked the ring-pull and took a swig.

"That's the stuff..." he murmured, sitting back in the chair and savouring the flavour. The one thing he drew the line at, despite having to chaperone kiddies who missed home, take his turn at washing the dishes and getting beaten continuously by Kurt at shooting hoops, was only being able to drink soda. A man had his limits. And he'd be damned if he would share it with Bobby or Kitty, even though they were both fast approaching eighteen.

He grinned. If he'd been able to walk through walls at eighteen, no girl's dormitory would have been safe. Then again...

With a _snik_, he unsheathed a single adimantium claw from between the index and middle fingers of his right hand and stared at it. If he'd been able to walk through walls, Stryker wouldn't have given him these. But he was dead and gone. Along with other people...people who mattered more...

He took another pull of beer, sheathed his blade and ran his hand through his dark hair, sighing through his teeth. So much change...so many losses and upheavals. But it was over. It was finally over. Lenshaw was harmless, the Brotherhood scattered, the "cure" was no longer in production and, best of all, he had his own motorcycle.

Nodding, he stood up slowly, crushing the empty can and tossing it across the room into the bin with unerring precision. Closing the lid of the security-cooler, he made sure he heard the pneumatic hiss of the lock catching before he put it back. He stretched his arms above his head and glanced at the clock above the sink: quarter to twelve. Maybe he'd actually get a decent night's sleep without having to mumble awkward comforts to preteens who missed their families and didn't know what was happening to them. He could empathise there, at least. Sniffing, this time in fatigue, he reached out and found the lightswitch, taking in the kitchen one last time before plunging it into darkness again.

He was where he belonged.

That was when the bike shed exploded.


	2. Chapter 2

His lips pulled back into a snarl which seemed almost feral in the moonlight, the man who was once named for the most vicious animal in America leapt bodily over the low wall surrounding the bike yard, slowing to a tense walk as he neared the smoking remains of the wooden shed which had housed the students assortment of bicycles. He could see the bent twisted frame of a younger boy's BMX embedded in the brick wall behind the yard. Boy, would _he_ be pissed…

_Snikt_. The claws were out instinctively; he was surprised by how much it hurt. The feeling of fresh skin on both hands being sliced open by razor-sharp adamantium was one he had, for a blessed, if short, period of time, not been required to experience lately. At least, circumstance hadn't prompted it. But now it seemed things were about to get that much more kooky again.

He took another step forward, then ran, crouching low, towards the wreckage. There was very little left, a few shards of charred wood and the twisted padlock from the door. Logan straightened slowly, his clenched fists out to either side of his waist, the silvery light from the moon glinting on the edges of the metal. He cocked his head on one side and sniffed. There were traces of…well, Hank would have some fancy term for it, but Logan just thought of it as the smell which happened when things went kablam. A heady mix of smoke, fire and charcoal which made his scalp itch. There was also a tang of something which Logan couldn't identify, which annoyed him, and…brimstone?

_Bamf_. With a rush of collecting purple smoke and a unique sound, Kurt Wagner, clad in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a white t-shirt, materialised out if the air beside Logan, landing in a squat, his tail slashing at the air behind him: a sign that he was agitated.

"I heard the noise from my room. If that horrible man has returned, then I must insist you let me beat him with a vooden bat, so as he cannot manipulate it." Kurt's yellow eyes flicked from blackened wood to scorched metal and back again.

Logan allowed himself a small grin as he stepped forward. Over these past few months, Kurt's confidence had been building steadily as he realised that his mutation, coupled with his natural cat-like capabilities, made him one of the most formidable warriors in the school. As was always the case in one so gifted at violence, Kurt was a gentle soul, still steadfast in his faith, but he was gaining the confidence to talk, socialise with, and even offer advice to student and teacher alike at Xavier's. Despite this however, his extremely abnormal appearance meant he still had difficulty adapting to life amongst many people.

"See what caused it yet, Elf?" Logan muttered, calling him by the nickname Kurt had reluctantly accepted. It was either that or _sausage-butt_. The german peered into the darkness.

"Nothing that I can- vait…" With another _bamf _of inrushing air, Kurt vanished into the darkness. A minute later, he was back. "There is a boy on the other side of the playing field. I do not think he is at all vell."

Logan straightened, and retracted his claws. He started to run, clearing the opposite wall and hitting the grass of the sports-field. He was aware in the gloom of the night of Kurt bounding alongside him on all fours, clearing the same distance as Logan with little to no signs of exertion. The treeline of the Xavier estate's forest was ahead, and now Logan could smell the boy, a mixture of sweat and adrenaline: he was terrified.

"Hold on, sonny." Logan passed the first few trees, before slowing to a cautious walk. "Elf, where is he?" Kurt stopped and stood in one fluid motion, swivelling his head to the left and right.

"He vos right here…" he murmured, his tail flicking viciously. "I-" In mid-sentence, he vanished. But this time, there was no sound, no smell of brimstone. He was simply…not there any more. Seconds later, Logan's watch shattered, and there was a deafening crash from the direction of the mansion, followed by a thunderous _BONG_. If Logan was any judge, the clock tower had exploded.

Torn between finding the mysterious "boy" and checking on the other students, Logan's mind was made up for him when something suddenly erupted out of the ground at his feet, catching him full in the stomach and knocking the wind out of him. When he could breath again, he found himself straddling the branch of an oak tree. Staring incredulously, he peered through the leaves.

"Elf? Talk to me." His branch crumbled into dust. "Oh, come _on_-" He hit the forest floor with a crunch, and felt his shoulder pop out of its socket, metal grinding against metal. Gritting his teeth, he seized his wrist with his good hand and yanked, growling as the bone snapped back into place. The _crack _was closely followed by a _snikt _as six adamantium blades gleamed suddenly in the moonlight filtering down through the trees.

"Show yourself, bub." Logan snarled at the darkness, bending his knees and extending on arm forward, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation. He sniffed, and immediately caught the unmistakable scent of panic. A moment later, he tensed as the undergrowth to his left suddenly shook.

In front of his eyes, a thick bramble bush wilted, blackened and crumbled, revealing a stark naked adolescent boy with thick, shoulder length hair the colour of the earth beneath his bare feet. Feet around which, with every step, plants wilted and died. Logan automatically backed away, hating himself for showing this weakness, but he wasn't stupid, despite many people's objections to the contrary, and he had no desire to crumble like the oak.

He was about to look for a rock to throw, when he noticed the look on the child's face, and caught another surge fear with his nasal passages. At about fourteen, maybe fifteen, this kid was almost paralytic with fear.

From the dust of the dead plants, a green shoot shot upwards, forming a fully grown bush in seconds. More foliage sprang up from the ground, forming a kind of tunnel, down which the kid staggered. And he did stagger; he was having difficulty even walking in a straight line. Suddenly, the effort seemed to become too much, and the boy toppled backwards, landing spread-eagled in the leaves. Plantlife continued to grow around him, forming some sort of cocoon, which continually pulsed, crumbled and grew anew. Logan sighed, then strode forward and swung one fist, making short work of the branches. Before more could grow, he stooped and picked the kid up, but barely had he taken a few steps when he buckled, feeling a wave of weakness and nausea wash over him. In front of his eyes, the skin on his hands creased and greyed, his hair fell out in droves, and his eyesight grew fuzzy. He figured out what was happening a moment later, and dropped the kid in a heap, reeling off to one side before dropping on all fours and vomiting. Already he could feel his healing factor coursing through his body, regenerating cells and de-aging his body.

Dragging himself to his feet, he lurched over to where the boy lay prone. He was still conscious; the ground was going crazy around him. A bird flitted out of a tree overhead, and aged thirty years in a second, leaving nothing but a bare skeleton. Logan roared in frustration, before doing the only thing he could think of.

He hit the boy with a rock.

As the child's eyes closed, the ground ceased its undulation and Logan felt strength return to his limbs as his healing factor suddenly found itself without an opponent. He slung the boy over his shoulder, and then felt the phone in his pocket vibrate. Flipping it open with one hand, his claws now retracted, he heard Ororo's voice, her consternation evident.

_"Logan, the central wing's almost completely collapsed. Kitty and Peter got the kids out in time, but they're panicking. Where are you?"_

"I'm in the woods." Logan replied, hefting the boy onto his other shoulder. "And I think we've got a new student."


End file.
